A Significant Day
by terrified
Summary: A one-shot. Clara has lived three years without the Doctor and her adventures in space and time. After a Christmas do, Clara finds herself face to face with someone who feels to her as significant as the Doctor was, but is not him at all. Contains some strong language.


_**A/N: **My rubbish attempt at Whouffaldi again. This time, I've delved into the world of 12/Clara/Malc. So I honestly don't know what this qualifies as. I've also had a bit to drink, and have been nursing overwhelming feels and a migraine. So props to you for giving this a go, and my apologies if you did and it sucked. Anyway, allons-y… _

_Note: Contains a small amount of swearing._

* * *

**A Significant Day**

Clara had been careful not to have too much drink. It was tempting, but having only just recently snapped out of what had been approximately three years of haziness, she was relishing her renewed clarity of thought.

It was the first social event she had agreed to go to. Some old friends of hers had thrown a big glitzy Christmas party in a restaurant downtown and she had uncharacteristically decided to attend. It had not been as frightful as she had imagined. The weight of having lost both Danny _and_ the Doctor in one fell swoop had only just begun to lift, but at least it had. Now that the grey clouds had begun to part somewhat, she was feeling good, genuinely good. Even on a night like this.

The Christmas do had been fun. She felt a little out of place from time to time, for these were very old acquaintances indeed. It made her realise, with a smile this time, how much time she did spend with the Doctor, and how wonderful those times had been. Clara chuckled when it dawned on her how he had been her excuse for not attending so many of these other social functions. _Always the cosmos over Cosmopolitans_, she used to tell the Doctor. He would grin and remind her that she was not much of a cocktail person anyway. It usually followed with the both of them sharing a bottle of red as they stared out of the TARDIS at whatever impossibly beautiful phenomena they were privy to at that moment.

It was late, and especially late for Clara. She could not remember the last time she had been out at night, much less past midnight. Clara walked out of the restaurant and, braving the December winds, wrapped her coat around her party frock and kept her eyes out, hoping to catch a cab to get her home. As she mindlessly made her way down the street, she could hear a very distinct voice. Clara's head snapped up from looking down at her shoes and she began to look around. The voice was not only distinct, it was familiar, and it was one she had not heard in a very long time.

"Doctor?" she murmured, unable to stop the word from slipping out of her mouth.

Picking up her pace, Clara walked differently now. Her steps were sharp and brisk as she strained her ears to follow the source of that voice. She might have been hearing things, but Clara would never risk an assumption. She was doubly glad she was sober enough to know this was no delusion.

Clara was definitely on the right track, for she could hear it much clearer now. His words were rapid, almost bullet-like, and there was a harshness to it that was unfamiliar. Not uncharacteristic of him, for she had heard the Doctor in a temper a few times, but it was just unfamiliar. Finally, her eyes caught sight of him. He looked a little more ragged than she remembered. There was fatigue in his posture, but aggravation in his expression. He seemed to be pacing back and forth, as though confined in a tiny, invisible box. To Clara's amusement and private comfort, he was pacing just outside an ordinary telephone box. Its red was still obvious from the street lamps that surrounded them. The TARDIS was probably parked elsewhere.

It was him. It _had_ to be him. She only noticed then that he was talking on his mobile phone. For a moment, Clara could not remember if the Doctor had a mobile phone or not. Then again, three years had passed between them. Anything could have happened, anything could have changed, so it did not bother her. What did bother her was how bothered he looked. His steps were angry and he seemed to be yelling outright into the phone. His free hand gesticulated wildly and threateningly. Those clear eyes of his were wide and strained. Something was not right. The Doctor was distressed, and it distressed her.

"Doctor…Doctor!" she yelled, crossing over to where he was.

He heard her voice, for there were only two of them on that empty street by the red phone box. His wide eyes grew even wider as Clara ran right up to him, smiling widely. Her heart beat so hard she was sure he could hear it. Clara threw her arms around his neck and kissed him just below his ear. She then stood back and just looked at him, studying him from head to toe, unable to wipe the smile from her face.

"Listen, I'll call you back, and when I do, you get that quote redacted ASAP, right?" he said, muttering quickly and angrily into his mobile phone. He then slipped it back into his pocket.

"Right, darling, you okay? Someone messed with your Christmas cocktails?" he asked, placing two hands gingerly on her shoulders, as though trying to keep her in balance.  
"Come on, enough with the games…" Clara whispered excitedly, "Why are you back? Has something happened? Why the disguise…"

He laughed and returned his hands to his coat pockets.

"I usually know what people are talking about, even the nutters…but I genuinely haven't a clue about you, love." he remarked with a smirk.  
"A nutter? I'm not a nutter… Wait, do you not recognise me?"  
"Are you one of my illegitimate children?" he joked, "If you are, talk to my lawyer."  
"Shut up. It's me, _Clara_…"  
"Well, now that I know that you're Clara," he said, "I should let you know that…I don't know who you are."  
"But…"  
"Look, d'you need a taxi, love? I'll get you one now, right?" he said, getting his phone out and dialling for one.  
"No, I don't need a bloody taxi!" Clara exclaimed, trying to get at his phone.  
"Oy!"  
"Doctor, stop mucking around and tell me… Why are you here?"

Clara's question was met with a perplexed frown. His mouth was slightly agape from being at a loss for words. He was tempted to just walk away but this girl seemed adamant that she knew him and was obviously in a lot of distress.

"You said doctor….d'you need a doctor or something?" he asked, his voice was low and his tone was careful.

Shaking her head, Clara laughed quietly to herself. It was as though he had lost his mind, gotten amnesia or something. Why did he not recognise her? With a frustrated sigh, Clara leaned into him again, her cheek resting against his chest. He leapt at her touch, his hands frozen in mid-air, being careful not to be seen manhandling her. His gaze zipped around, checking for paparazzi or anyone that would have caught him in this awkward moment.

"_You_…are the doctor." Clara said quietly, moving one hand to rest against his chest.  
"I don't know you," he whispered, as kindly as he could now, "Why are you hugging me like that?"  
"Because you're the Doctor…" Clara repeated, pressing her ears against his chest and shutting her eyes, "Gallifreyan, Time Lord, and you're supposed to have two…"

Suddenly, she leapt away from him and looked up at him with wide, confused eyes. He merely raised an eyebrow, frozen to his spot. He was starting to think she might be dangerous, but she was also delicate, so he had to be careful.

"Two…what?" he asked, trying to entertain her. He did not want to admit it, but there was something terribly wrong with her. As though some part of her had snapped, disappeared.  
"Hearts…" she managed to mutter, "You're supposed to have two hearts…"

The man she mistook for as the Doctor chuckled, somewhat darkly. He exhaled, relieved that he was no longer in her death grip, but could not shake off the fact that there was something about this girl that gripped him nevertheless.

"Haven't had a heart in ages, darling," he said with a blank, half-smile, "You're definitely looking for the wrong man."  
"But, you look just like him…" Clara murmured, lifting her hand to gently touch his cheekbone.  
"My name is Malcolm," he remarked plainly, "And I'm not your doctor."  
"No…" Clara whispered, her fingers still lingering on his face, "I suppose you're not."

Malcolm sighed and dug his hands further into his pockets. He had not the heart to remove her hand from his cheek. Oddly enough, it felt rather lovely. A type of loveliness that had become foreign to him over the years.

"Let's get you home, all right?" he said gently. Malcolm reached for the fingers that touched him and returned Clara's hand to her side. She nodded and stood compliantly by his side as he dialled for a cab. When the cab finally pulled up, he opened the door for her and saw her safely in.

"You'll be all right, yeah, Clara?" he asked, peering into the dark cab.  
"Yeah…yeah, sure." she answered almost robotically. She was looking straight ahead, almost oblivious to Malcolm now.

Nodding, Malcolm waved casually goodbye and straightened up. Just as his hand moved to swing the cab door shut, he felt an odd sensation against the ribs in his chest. It was weighty, like a pendulum swinging. It continued to swing, banging at his ribs.

"The fuck is this…" he muttered fiercely to himself. He swung the door wide opened again and bent down, poking his head like he did moments ago.

"Would you like me to come with you?" he asked. His voice was hard but only because he was frustrated at himself. "Besides, you went all mistletoe on me just now. So least I could do is see you home, right? It's fucking Christmas after all."

Clara turned her head slowly to face him. Her dazed expression turned to that of furious scrutiny as she stared at Malcolm once more. He was so accurately like the Doctor it was frightening. Except, it had not frightened her. Not in the least.

"I'd like that," she answered. A small smile had returned to her lips as she shifted to make room in the cab. Malcolm paused, realising she had said _yes_ to letting him, someone she did not actually know at all, to take her home in a taxi. However, she was the one that was the real mystery, and here he was, getting into a vehicle with her.

"I hope you're not going to kill me," he joked, climbing in and shutting the door. "I've got a PM to babysit."  
"I won't," Clara said, chucking. Their unusual situation had not gone unnoticed by her.  
"You sure about that?" he said smirking, "You've already launched yourself at me…twice."  
"Yeah, sorry about that," she said, looking down at her clasped hands on her lap. "I just…"  
"He's someone special, yeah?" he asked outright.  
"Yeah." she answered, sinking back into her seat.  
"Bet he was a good man," Malcolm said, smiling at her.  
"He's a lot like you, actually," Clara said, smiling back.  
"Really?" Malcolm replied, one eyebrow raised, "Not a good man then."  
"Don't say that."  
"You don't know me, sweetheart,"  
"But I could try," Clara said.  
"You really shouldn't."  
"I'd like to."  
"Right. I have a better idea. Don't." Malcolm said, turning to stare out of the window.  
"I don't see why not." Clara answered calmly.

She lay back against the leather seat of the taxi and exhaled quietly. She was tired from having worked herself up. With her head still leaning lazily against the seat, she turned to look at Malcolm who still had his face to the window. Without knowing why, Clara found her hand moving gingerly across the little space of seat between them and finding his. Malcolm whipped his head round to face her, startled.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, stunned, but slightly amused.  
"What does it look like?" she answered, lacing her fingers between his strangely compliant ones.  
"This must be some Christmas joke, right?" he said, eyeing her warily, "Are you some kind of prank kissogram? I bet this was Ollie's doing, that little tw—"  
"No," Clara interrupted with a laugh, "I'm not a kissogram, no. I don't know any Ollie."  
"What are you then?"  
"I'm Clara, Clara Oswald," she replied simply.  
"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" he scoffed, but had no desire to remove his hand from hers.  
"Maybe not," she answered pensively, looking down at their hands, "But I think, Malcolm, you're supposed to mean something to me."

Clara shifted in her seat again, this time, to move closer to Malcolm. She removed her hand from his and looped her arm through his, resting her head against him. Malcolm froze, slightly, but only to relent within minutes. There was an incredible urge to put his arm around her, to make sure she was warm, to make sure she was safe. Was Christmas always this crazy?

"I want to find out, Malcolm," she said quietly.  
"Find out what?" he asked back, letting his face tilt gently, resting ever so slightly against the top of her head.  
"If you're supposed to mean something."  
"Right. In that case, you could just google me." he said, smirking.

Clara laughed, and it turned his smirk into a proper smile.

"I just might," she said.  
"Better do it when I'm not around," he said with a laugh.  
"And why is that?" Clara asked.  
"I'm not a very good man, Clara," answered Malcolm.  
"You've been very good to me," said Clara swiftly.  
"Yeah, you can thank Christmas for that."  
"I do."  
"Yeah?"  
"Yeah."

The two of them smiled, unaware that the other was smiling too.

"Well, you know what, Clara Oswald," said Malcolm, shifting to put his arm properly around her, "It's starting to look like I'll have to thank this bloody holiday too."

**END**


End file.
